


Dead Dib

by Ghioulzi



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: M/M, NSFW, Other, SWEET BOYS, Self Harm, Suicide, TriggerWarning, fuck tagging the rest of it you figure it out, gaz is dating feng min from dbd don't @ me, god why did i not finish this it's really good, invader zim but with sadnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22945966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghioulzi/pseuds/Ghioulzi
Summary: So I wrote this back in November and felt guilty for not posting it. It's mostly fluff and some enemies stuff with a buttton of angst.Basic plot:Dib and Zim are in highskool, in the same human anatomy class. They're dumb, fall in love, etc, etc.Dib commits the big unalive for undisclosed and unfinished reasons, Prof. Dadbrane digs through his memories to find out why.Basically all the extra mid-inbetween bits got skipped so it ends abruptly.I never finished this. Depending on how popular this gets, I might end up finishing it.Send me shit on my twitter @ghioulzi
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim), Gaz (Invader Zim)/Original Character(s), ZaDr - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	Dead Dib

The Membrane household has not been without its fair share of deaths. After all, coming from a family of clones was destined to be prone to mistakes. That is what Professor Membrane considered to be fair.

It was at 3 A.M. that he discovered the corpse of Dib. His body remained unmoving, pale skin with the blood drained to his legs and hands, fingertips a deep crimson. His skin was freezing to the touch; his chilled face pressed into the siding of the bathtub. 

That's what happens with improperly cloned organs in the bodies. No-fault of his son for dying. Kidneys were a hard organ to reproduce biologically in a laboratory. His son deserved only the best organs, after all.

So there his son lay, body against the cool steel table. His body would need to be incinerated, such a contaminate in his organs may prove dangerous. 

Though, his son's memory upload would take another three hours to properly connect. Perhaps he could find the moment of malfunction in his memories, find symptoms to be aware of in the future for sudden kidney failure. Or perhaps it was another organ.

The new vessel was connected to a series of neurotransmitters, each to allow the old memories within the body. It truly wouldn't take long.

Dib's fragile, child-like body often failed. Though, as the boy had reached the age of sixteen, his body had yet to destruct since the "florpus" incident. The memories of the past four years would surge through him, and Dib's new body would be a fair replacement for the old one. Or, until the professor found a solution for the sudden organ rupture. 

  
  
  
  
  


The Membrane household has not been without its fair share of deaths. After all, coming from a family of clones was destined to be prone to mistakes. That is what Professor Membrane considered, in this context, to be fair.

It was at 3 A.M. that he discovered the corpse of Dib. His body remained unmoving, pale skin with the blood drained to his legs and hands, fingertips a deep crimson. His skin was freezing to the touch; his chilled face pressed into the siding of the bathtub. 

That's what happens with improperly cloned organs in the bodies. It was not Dib's fault that his organs chose to shut down at an inopportune time. 

His son's deceased vessel would be incinerated to prevent a spread of organ dissolving virus. Contaminants within the household could potentially spread, causing other bodies to degrade. The professor aimed to test this virus theory later.

The wonder of cloning had brought a slew of new scientific research to the metaphorical table. The devastation of organ failure in improperly formed clones was high risk as well as high reward. If an outbreak were to breach the home, the entire city, perhaps the world, would self-destruct.

The last time that Dib's body had collapsed into the realm of non-existence had been six years prior. He had been twelve years of age, dragged into the house by his younger sister. 

Gazlene was terrified, eyes wide with an unfamiliar fear. It was primal, pulled from the retching depths of her soul. 

A thickening pool of red began to form beneath him. A puncture wound on his dorsal side, he was bled like a stuck pig. 

He recalled the pleas she gave to him as he fumbled behind Dib's head, looking for the chip implanted behind his left ear. 

Dib was in top working condition when his consciousness resurfaced, an overzealous Gaz clinging to her brother the moment he woke.

It was also when the Professor had to explain the general workings of Dib's inner conscious and nature. He was a clone of himself, after all. It needed to be said eventually. Dib seemingly took the concept well, lacking the outcries to dictate exceptional disbelief or malice for such a scenario. 

Dib had died on account of being stabbed in both kidneys, along with the stomach. The puncture had worked its way through most of his digestive tract with internal bleeding, but now his new vessel was without injury.

Professor Membrane was a man of peace, upholding such a measure to the highest standards. Whoever injured his son, with no punishment, was indisputed scum. He would worry about the villain capable of such an act later on. Though soon, he forgot about the event, allowing it to slip into the background. 

Dib prattled on for hours, begging for his senior to believe his alienated theories. As much as the belief in aliens and friendly sharks had fascinated him in his minor years, the truth had become far more enrapturing in his current life. He would humor Dib, for now, allowing him to do what made him happy. Soon, real science would show through.

He tapped at the steel table, fingers sliding in the same rhythm they had moved in for an hour now. His eyes remained fixed on the carcass thrown upon the table. 

Dib remained unmoving, both of them did. Both stayed in stasis, hands clenched with a specific vengeance. Dead and alive, Dib functioned similarly. It was far more evident when both vessels waited splayed against the table in tandem. 

Leaving both bodies out on the table was only a preliminary to receiving faster upload speed, as well as doubling to test the organ-virus theory. 

The professor removed himself from his observatory office chair, opting to grab his coffee cup as he ascended the stairs. 

"So, how'd he die this time," Gaz sat at the kitchen table, phone gripped tightly in her right hand. A plate of waffles sat in front of her, fork loaded with another bite.

"He's only in his temporary upload status, do not fret," He kept his voice cool, collected. The organ virus theory was still very present in his mind. Scaring Gaz wasn't necessary for this equation. 

"Yea, I know Dad. Doesn't change my question, though." She spat out a text message, moving to set her phone screen-down on the table. 

"I didn't look?" He shrugged, moving to the coffee machine on the counter, pouring himself a cup. Anyone who didn't drink black coffee was a monster, no doubt. 

"You didn't do an autopsy?" Her face rung confusion. Odd.

"Why would I need to?"

Her mouth hung agape, looking for the right words to say. "I don't have a good answer for that." She shoveled a mouthful of waffle into her mouth.

"Right." He took a tentative sip of coffee. Still far too hot, he was right to do so. "Say, it's the weekend. Why are you up so late?"

"Participated in a tournament last night. Slept until half an hour before it was supposed to start," Grumbling, she continued. "Those Shining Lions are ruthless with their schedules."

"Better than having you crash, then." He hummed, eyeing the basement door.

"Have fun re-uploading the nerd all morning."

"I will." He stepped back down, to see that the screen was already ahead on memory playing. 

  
  


In Dib's junior year of High-Skool, he didn't expect much. He didn't expect well-oiled lesson plans, nor did he expect to have an adequate amount of materials to properly learn, and he didn't expect Zim to be in any of his classes.

Dib was, mostly, wrong.

His classes were all test runs of bad curriculums, even the advanced placement lacking to give him any knowledgeable sustenance. The boys in his Biology were mongrels. They threw pencils at the ceilings, screamed, routinely went through the teenage brat demands Dib expected from a four-year-old. The lessons rarely had enough copies of worksheets to go around. No Zim, though.

However, Dib's Human Anatomy class was a different animal entirely. The teacher was one of the oldest at the building, likely even ranking over Mrs. Bitters' seniority. His classmates were genuinely interested in their work.

Alas, all good things came at a price. In Elementary and Middle-Skool, Zim had helped the crumbling structures of Dib's social status clamor downwards. Some, okay, a lot of it, was Dib's fault, but his classmates were genuinely morons. They never saw what Dib did. The truth stared them in the face, Dib circling over it with bright red markers, and he was condemned time and time again because of his "obsession" with Zim.

Glancing up at the seating chart projected lazily on the whiteboard, Dib didn't even notice he was sat next to a certain little freak. He plopped his bag down, immediately collapsing his face into it, staring off into space, before hearing the chair next to his squeak.

There sat a familiar form. Dib could go on forever about the semantics of Zim's preferred state of dress sticking to business casual, even though Zim seemed to have a very human face. A nose with pale cool skin, small freckles dotting his face. The old hairstyle remained, with the shaved back Dib refused to admit looked cool as hell.

It was no wonder he didn't recognize him at first, Zim looked nearly human. Nearly. Dib's eyes widened as he heard that familiar voice, confirming his thoughts on the invader sat next to him.

"Hello, I am Zim Leon," Zim stared up at the whiteboard, face contorting into a smirk. Dib stared up from his trenchcoat sleeve, already exhausted by the little twat's self-centered nature. Luckily, he was saved by the bell.

"Alright, let's not get too chatty," The door shut, revealing the older woman who closed it. "I'm Mrs. Frankenlust, I've been working here for a long time. If you need to drop out of this class, you should do it this week before the administration gets involved." 

She seemed well engrossed in her job, heading to her desk to take attendance.

"After today, you'll be rearranged with your lab partner. If you don't know anyone in the class, try to meet someone new! Social skills are valuable in the real world, after all."

Mrs. Frankenlust receded to her desk, allowing the students to mingle. Dib pulled his face from his trenchcoat, begging that he recognized any face save for Zim's. It seemed, though, that everyone who didn't have a partner had clustered far away from Dib, requiring him to leave his seat if he was desperate to find someone else.

"Hey, lizard," Dib started, looking Zim in the eye while he spoke, making sure that he caught every word. "If you being 'wonky' screws my grade, I'll dissect you to find out what this class is really about."

"Duly noted, Dib-thing. Zim assures you the same promise."

Working with Zim hadn't been nearly as unpleasant as Dib initially thought. He did his what he was supposed to, was moderately quiet, and didn't seem to acknowledge any of their past discrepancies. 

Dib vowed in middle-skool that he would never talk to Zim again. His safety was in jeopardy. Associating with the shortest kid in school was his personal social suicide, especially with their violent history.

However, Zim made an excellent lab partner. He always kept up on notes, assignments were never late, and he always asked questions Dib seemed to have, if any at all. 

Their teacher's favorite phrases consisted of "The four rules, eat more fiber, use sunscreen, be vaccinated, and floss your teeth," and less notably "you are your own best human anatomy model". Neither could apply to Zim, his PAK gave him all the necessary nutrients and functions of a living organism with no effort. So, Dib became his study model. 

Hating Zim for using him as a glorified model was enough, especially considering that Zim had claimed all of Dib's internal organs with flags. Stupid little prick didn't even consider that Dib wasn't in that old body. Those flags were non-organic and long since incinerated. 

He watched the powerpoint slide change from an unfamiliar blue to white.

Dib internally cursed himself for staring off in the middle of a lecture.

Luckily, and of course, begrudgingly, Zim slid his notes to Dib. They were painstakingly written in Irken, just to inhibit Dib's learning. Little did Zim know, Dib had been able to translate Irken fonts for years. He intentionally wrote slowly, interspersing it with the new notes and powerpoint being presented on the board. Zim then wrote the new material, waiting for the next slide. The little shit was  _ smiling _ . 

As much as he despised admitting the fact, the silent class arguments that Dib now had with Zim were far more entertaining. 

"So, the meat of the epithelial unit boils down to your skin cells. Make a Quizlet, do the directed reading, do what you need, twenty minutes until the bell. Choosing to sit on your phone won't benefit you, but I won't stop you either," Mrs. Frankenlust turned the projector off with a pointer. "You guys want the lights left off?"

A chorus of mumbled variations of "yes" went through the room. Dib personally didn't care, but sometimes kids just like passing out when they should be awake. The students who sat across from him followed suit, setting their heads down on their desks. Did they even  _ know  _ what bacteria were on those?

"You need to be more attentive, Dib," Zim always spoke with a certain air of superiority in his voice, snapping him out of his thoughts. Dib hated him. "Your skool prowess is slipping."

"You need to stop giving me your notes in alien languages," He smiled, content with his answer. He tapped his pencil against his paper, setting it down as he stood. "Your disguise is slipping."

Zim shrugged, pulling his notes away and drawing a small angry face on Dib's paper. It didn't matter.

Heading to the back of the classroom, he opted to grab two of the textbooks, two worksheets as well. The alien had some sense of courtesy, and would inevitably thank Dib for the minute amount of work he had done. 

Dib returned to his seat, setting down the books and sliding one to Zim.

A small Irken-wrapped candy laid on his notes. A glance at Zim revealed an open wrapper on his own desk. So he was sharing now?

Maybe Zim wasn't  _ so  _ bad.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Three green fingers laced between Dib's own. The skin perfectly smooth, lacking any imperfections. They narrowed into sharpened points, whiter keratin on each tip. Dib stared, longer than he should have, at the small hands nestled within his own. 

"Dib-human," Zim, that was the green boy's name, of course, spoke softly. The words prompted further questioning, though overall were hung with soft melancholy. The exchange student stared, wide eyes peering straight into Dib's own. Both of those eyes now shone as the true as magenta pools from beneath, vast in their exponential wisdom. It was an exposure that Dib was rarely granted. "When will you finally decide it is a worthy juncture in which to kiss me?"

Dib's face scrunched, clearly not what he was expecting to hear. Zim still stared expectantly up at Dib. 

The professor stared up at the monitor. There was that boy who Dib swore up and down was an alien, though he appeared normal as could be. 

  
  


"You have to ask," He smiled, smug expression at the ends of his lips. Zim laid against Dib, the familiar heat and purring echoing through Dib's chest. "You and your cute alien ways."

"Don't humans fret over their first kiss? The specifications of a particularly satisfying or  _ good  _ first kiss are important, no?" His eyes bored holes into Dib, begging so diligently for an answer.

"Do you want your first kiss to be special, Zim?" Dib's idle hands traced Zim's lower back, barely below his PAK. The low rumbles produced by such a small creature often struck Dib as cat-like. He truly loved that about his little invader.

"Stupid human, of course not. Any illogical and exponential show of affection you would give me would be satisfactory of any needs I desire in ending." Dib pressed his lips to Zim's forehead, hoping that the little gremlin could feel the smirk toying on the ends of his mouth. 

"Then, soon. Just not when you wake me up at three in the morning. I can't even hardly see where you are, aside from those pretty eyes." The urge to brush his teeth crossed Dib's mind, but the little Irken curled against his chest far more deserved Dib's attention. "Now, please fall back asleep."

Professor Membrane was never the type to indulge in affection as anything other than platonic or familial. It plucked upon his chordae tendineae to watch his son intertwine his fingers in lazy sleep with an alien. An alien? Of course not, just a figment of Dib's persona leaking onto his ideals, after all. They would fade soon, leaving Membrane back with his logic and without any of those heated feelings. Soon enough, Dib faded to sleep, and a new memory began. The morning after, a Monday. 

Oh, his space boy. Oh,  _ his precious _ space boy. 

Zim trembled beneath his touch. His skin was divinely smooth, not a single imperfection. He bit his lip, examining his Irken. The pale light of his bedroom perfectly outlined Zim, lazy morning attire again. 

"Zim understands if you find his body-" His eyes shied away, hands going to cover his chest. Even his hands looked soft. "Uncomfortable."

"You're really-really pretty," Dib stared, choking down his fears. "I've never seen anything so pretty before."

Zim was so precious like this. Exposed to the open air, his favorite t-shirt draped over his body. Dib's hands on his shoulders, he leaned to press a kiss to the alien's forehead. 

He looked especially excellent all wrapped up in Dib's clothes. He pulled away, gently cupping Zim's cheek within his hand. He would never get over just how cute he was. Snuggling early in the morning, it was wonderful.

"That's-" His face was flared in forest green, mouth left agape for a moment. Starstruck was a good look on him too. "Good. Zim should be the only one for you, Dib-thing."

Dib's alarm clock rung again, nearly giving him a headache. He pulled from Zim, now missing the cling of perfectly temperate skin against his own. Crawling out of bed, 

Pulling the first blue turtleneck that he could out of his dresser, a pair of black jeans from the floor, he relented the cool morning air as he pulled his sweatpants off. Pulling his pant legs on individually, and then pulling his pants up like a monster, Dib stopped to watch Zim fumble with his holo-bracelet for a moment, finally managing to have it flicker over his body.

The one thing about Zim's disguise, which was hilarious, was that it didn't work right on Zim's eyes. He still had to resort to those old, itchy contacts. Dib watched as Zim hopped off the bed, skittering across the floor to his backpack, pulling out his contact case. 

"I'm gonna go see who's breakfast it is," Dib mumbled, pulling his turtleneck over his body, messing with the collar a bit. He loved how soft the stupid thing was. "I think it's mine, so come on down whenever."

Descending the stairs, he could see Gaz sat at the kitchen table, hands idly tapping away at her phone. The kitchen lights were set on dim, probably to keep Gaz from clawing her eyes out this early in the morning.

"Waffles or-"

"I know Zim's over, just make the damn batter," She didn't look up, probably focused on a mobile game or her girlfriend. "And don't put my name down for the swear-jar."

"You got it, goblin." Sliding across the kitchen floor, he went to grab the box of Bisquick mix. 

The mix was easy enough to set up in a measuring cup, two-thirds milk, one cup Bisquick, one whole egg. No troubles there. Gaz was nice, sometimes, like right now, when she plugged in the waffle iron to heat up in advance. 

He poured the first sacrificial waffle, the first always turning out the worst. Dib managed to forget his phone, so he was set to talk to Gaz instead of spacing out until the waffle iron beeped again.

"So, how's Red Dead Redemption two?" Dib stared across the kitchen, overlooking the broken Foodio to focus on Gaz.

"It's not my thing. I'm not big on cowboys," Sending another text message, and wow, Gaz looks up from her phone. "There's some supernatural stuff, though. Time-traveler, there's a werewolf spawn point somewhere near Big Beaver, and I like a lot of the sidequests."

"Really? And how's that work?" It was rare that cryptids ended up being mentioned in video games if they weren't for shock value, so this is new.

"You see a naked dude screaming, he disappears behind a tree while you're riding, and suddenly a wolf is comin' to murder you." The waffle iron beeped. "He's just a wolf-dude, who lives among 'em. Love that guy and his wack ass family."

Dib nodded, opening the waffle iron, taking a fork and removing the waffle and plating it. 

"Sounds familiar." Gaz simply hummed in response, watching as he set it down in front of her. "So how's the wife?"

Her hand clutched firmly against her fork, she spoke. "Dib, we're sixteen and do competitive gaming together. We're not married." Frustrated, not angry. She would have hit him if she was angry.

"You two literally sleep on top of one another and get mad when Zim comes over."

"That's because he screams a lot." She added a quick, mumbled, "Perfect for you."

"Hey! At least we don't stay up until four in the morning playing Dead By Daylight!"

"I have a reputation to keep up with for the Shining Lions. The only reason you know we're up that late is because you're busy-"

"When is the next breakfast cake going to be ready," The alien stood at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing one of his contacts into place. He interrupted, as usual, the common jest between the two siblings. "Zim is hungry."

"A minute or so, don't worry." Why did Zim always need to dress so nice? It was just school, so why were leggings and a pink crop-top shirt necessary?

Gaz simply hummed again, resigning herself to twiddling her thumbs and mindlessly eating. 

  
  


The professor blinked at the screen, dumbfounded to the scene before him. Was he present in any of Dib's memories? Gazlene had a girlfriend?

Since when was Gaz in a relationship of any sort? Why hadn’t she told him?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


At that very moment, he felt nothing. Nothing in the world could help him. He was as helpless as the day his body was conceived in a test-tube. 

He had peeled the first layer of muscle off of his arm in a one by six-inch rectangle on his arms. The calipers on the wound were long since removed, hidden underneath the bathroom sink. The blood loss was already steady, and enough to get him loopy. He'd be dead soon.

The red hoodie Zim had gotten him would be internally stained, and truthfully, Dib didn't know how he felt about that.

Zim was excellent. Despite his cocky nature and significant bravado, Zim was truly something to behold. Irken bodies were efficient, elegant, and so very alien. His Zim was the pinnacle of it all. 

He didn't know why he did it. Perhaps the clinging loneliness from a childhood littered with spotty neglect, the bullying he received in middle-skool, the naturally damaged psyche he seemed to handle. 

A part of Dib told him that he did it for no reason at all. 

He still had so many concerts to attend, planets to research, so many games to play with Gaz, so much Zim to love. 

Regardless, Dib would be gone forever.

Zim would care when he was dead. Dib knew that Zim still cared about the barely breathing Dib and that he would pour his heart and soul into saving him.

Sleep came easier than expected. 

  
  


Membrane stared down at the screen, eyebrows knitted together tight. 

His Dib, his son, his lifeblood, had killed himself. He had even gone out of his way to create a more viable suicide method.

There was no organ virus. Dib, his “crazed” son, had actively been suicidal for years. When he crossed the street without looking, it wasn’t out of carelessness. All those days he’d spent prying toast out of the toaster with a fork made sense. It made his blood run cold. 

The memory upload was complete, and the professor felt as if he had pried too deep. He just dug into his son’s most important memories of the last four years. 

A bright, cheery 'Upload Complete' stared him in the face, the baby blue font no longer a comforting sight.

Worst of all, Dib was now sat up behind him. 

“I don’t know what I expected, honestly,” He rasped, grimacing. “You thought I had an accident or something, right?”

He could feel his scientifically chilled heart sink in ways it never had. 

"I'm-"

"You're what,  _ Dad _ ?" Malice. Genuine, grade-A, malice. It dripped off of his voice like a cobra's venom. He grabbed his glasses off the old body, groaning. His voice, though, faltered. Crumbling on the simplest syllables. "You're mad?"

"I'm sorry." 

Dib's mouth opened, like an Osteichthyes fish trying to desperately pump oxygen through its lungs to no avail. 

"I shouldn't have- said any of that to you. I shouldn't have  _ done  _ any of that to you." He stood, coffee now abandoned on the laboratory desk. "Can I sit with you?"

"Am I dead?" Voice soft, his arms went limp.

The professor took a seat next to his son.

"You were." He spoke hesitantly. What if he attempted again? Was he in liberty to  _ stop _ him? "I had a live feed of your memory playing. I thought it may have been a flesh-eating virus, and I was curious to see symptoms."

Dib went quiet again, shaking. His fingers curled.

"I had no idea."

He turned his head to face Dib once more. Truthfully, Membrane had rarely seen his son look so  _ vulnerable _ . His eyes were wide, already threatening to spill over with tears. He'd only ever seen him this vulnerable when he was trying to expose Zim. How funny, in a sick little way, that is.

"You were right, a lot of the time. You presented evidence and theories excellently. Zim is, in fact, an alien."

Dib's eyes went wide; any larger and those hazel eyes would pop like balloons. 

"I know you're not trying to expose him anymore."

"We're-ahm-" Dib cleared his throat. "Dating."

He set a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. "I'm well aware. I am far more ecstatic that you've used protection."

"You saw  _ everything _ -" Dib's face scrunched up with a flush. "God, you're a creep."

"I cut the footage out for those bits if you're so worried. Refilled my coffee."

"Oh, yea, so important." Dib rolled his eyes, tensing beneath him.

"I know I haven't been the best father and that you don't necessarily think of me as your father-"

"Because you're  _ not _ -"

"But I want to be better for you. I am open to the probability of aliens, and monsters, and that I was wrong to see you so little. That is child neglect, and I know you were in a difficult period in your life with bullying."

Dib blinked. "You-you really mean that?"

He squeezed his shoulder, sighing. A moment of silence between the two seemed to build a familiar tension.

"I know I was a little shit sometimes, too," Dib began. "I shouldn't have sabotaged World Peace Day or tried to get Clembrane to stop making pudding that one day."

"That sure was a mess." He chuckled, watching the sides of Dib's lips twinge upward in a smile. 

"I'm honestly not that mad with you, Dad. Teen angst is stupid and makes you say things." Membrane shifted, coat beginning to slide off of his left leg now.

"I didn't want to make you feel like you were a second priority to my job. Or that, at one point, you were a part of my job."

"Being a test-tube baby was interesting, yeah," Dib sighed. 

"I would not have had children if I did not want them, son."

Dib nodded, face softened, he smiled. It wasn't a large smile, hardly even noticeable. However, it was likely the most important smile the professor ever managed to see squirm onto Dib's face. 

He decided to break the silence, to remove one question that had upset him internally. It churned his feelings like butter, something that was unpleasant enough to warrant removal.

"Were you okay with death?" The bravado usually carried in his voice was gone, replaced with a particular fatherly concern.

Dib's previous forlorn sadness returned, face becoming much like his own. "I really don't think I was."

"I'm content that you've decided on staying." He gave Dib's shoulder another squeeze.

"Can we just try to talk to each other from now on?"

"I suppose that's a good agreement."

He pulled his son into a hug. 


End file.
